In the lunatic asylum,
it's quiet after the meds round.

R's mind was in the madhouse,
but his body was in a lifeboat,
or maybe vice versa,
he couldn't tell for sure.

He only knew that he was floating,
and, sometimes, it was too choppy,
and if life got too happy,
he felt that it was fake.

The open sea 's a harsh place,
but no worse than the where he carried
everywhere he ventured
inside his dense brainpan.

A fatal, futile option
was selected with a button
that may -- or may not -- have resided
within his very soul.

So thirsty and so lonely --
side-effects of something.
It might have been the meds,
or, perhaps, the salty air.

He chose to think he wasn't
bounded by a nutshell;
though his brand of crazy
was quiet before the storm. 

One day his kidneys gave out.
Who could've ever imagined
that such a thing could happen
in such a place as that.